


Snakeskin Boots

by jedjubeed



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is in a band, He also wears leather pants, Human AU, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Trans Crowley, just sum content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedjubeed/pseuds/jedjubeed
Summary: Crowley's band is playing at a local bar, and Aziraphale comes to watch. The show is free, but he really gets his money's worth.





	Snakeskin Boots

Aziraphale didn’t get out of his apartment very much. After all, his world was quite small - how some people found things to do all day long, he had no idea. He supposed he’d leave his days at his classes and going to work (being a full time student really took up plenty of his time). 

He could leave the partying and being sociable to his roommate, who certainly made it look like a second nature - coming home at some odd hour in the morning and sleeping it off until early afternoon. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure if the boy had a steady job past gigs he had with his band at dive bars, but the rent was paid on time each month, so he really had no room or authority to question it. He certainly was a quite odd boy.

He’d met Crowley a few years back, after graduating high school. He was an acquaintance of one of Aziraphale’s friends (a date, she’d said), she knew Crowley was looking for a place to stay, and knew Aziraphale was looking for a roommate. They got along well enough, their personal schedules promising that they only spent the oddest of times together. Sometimes if Aziraphale got up early enough and Crowley had stayed out late enough, they briefly met up while Aziraphale was brewing coffee and Crowley was heading to bed. It was little moments like that which reminded each of them how differently other people lived.

Crowley’s very existence was a reminder to Aziraphale, as well, just how different people could be. He was all very tall and very thin, sharp corners and dark clothes. His black skinny jeans often made him look far taller than he actually was, but the effect seemed to be as intended, and paid off. It was all part of “the look” (as Crowley always said). 

He was in a small local band he’d formed in high school with some of his friends, and often played at venues around the town. Aziraphale had never met the bandmates, but he’d gone to a few shows to cheer his friend along, and they all looked quite within the same fashion as Crowley. They were fine folk, from what he’d heard, but Aziraphale was just fine witnessing them from a stage and hearing stories about how much of a handful they were. 

They were really quite entertaining on stage. Aziraphale didn’t much like rock music, but he could come and have a few drinks and enjoy himself when it was Crowley and his friends up there. 

He thought maybe they had a show coming up this weekend. He’d just gotten up for that morning, heading to the kitchen to get himself his morning coffee. He saw a sharp mess of mostly limbs clad in all-black bent into odd angles on the couch, and he stopped to toss a blanket over Crowley so he could stay warm. There wasn’t much Aziraphale could do about the back pain he was giving himself, and all he could was tut a little bit and hope he woke soon to avoid the early onset arthritis. 

As it turns out, a little bit of hope can go a long way. Soon after the blanket settled on top of Crowley, Aziraphale could hear a little grunt and a rustle.

“We’re up early this morning,” he said, settling into an armchair with his steaming mug.

“Nngh,” was the response he got. Aziraphale decided he’d let Crowley wake up a little bit before he asked any hard questions, like how did you sleep and are you hungry. Crowley shifted around a bit more before standing up, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He stretched, cracked a few of his joints, and set out to the kitchen to get his own coffee. 

“What time did you come in last night, Crowley?”

“Good question. One maybe? Not super late.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re awake so early this morning. I didn’t expect to see you even twitch until at least noon.” He heard Crowley scoff, and some other various kitchen-related noises. Crowley shuffled out and sat on the couch, patting around before taking his phone out to squint at. 

“I’ve got a show tonight, you wanna come? It’s at Richard’s, 11 pm,” Crowley all but mentioned. Aziraphale thought he might have a show soon.

“I’d be delighted. Who are you pretending to be tonight?” Crowley was constantly conflicted about Aziraphale. Sometimes he thought Aziraphale genuinely didn’t understand the concept of a cover band, and sometimes he thought Aziraphale pretended not to understand it to get under his skin. This time, he suspected the latter. 

“We do not _pretend_ to be anybody. We’re covering Mötley Crüe tonight, you’ll love it.” Whenever Crowley said he’d ‘love it’, he never did. He liked when they covered… less heavy music, like Queen, or music from the late 90s. 

That wasn’t terribly often, mostly because Crowley complained about ‘not sounding enough like Freddie Mercury to pull it off’. Aziraphale thought they sounded fine - after all, emulation wasn’t the goal, and all the drunk people seemed to enjoy themselves. 

Aziraphale ended up going to work after he finished his coffee off, leaving Crowley to his devices in the apartment. He knew it took a little bit of setting up, so the apartment was empty when Aziraphale got back from his shift. He got himself some dinner, took a shower, and got dressed in something a bit more casual and low-key than a bowtie and a vest. He settled for a sweater and khakis. He was physically incapable of dressing down further than “business casual”. 

Aziraphale arrived early enough to get himself a seat near the stage, which he was thankful for - the bar filled up quite promptly. There was a sign outside announcing the live music, and Aziraphale reckoned most of the people there were in attendance to see the band. By 10:45, it was packed. He saw Crowley peek out from the curtain, pull his head back in, and then strut out on the stage to start setting things up, a proud smile on his face. From anybody else’s perspective, it was humble, but Aziraphale knew he was overjoyed.

At 11 pm (on the dot) Crowley got the mic set up, and surveyed the bar as his band members got in place. 

“You all ready for some music?” Crowley rallied, and there was a response of cheers. Aziraphale hooted, and waved at Crowley, who gave him a little wink. The gesture had Aziraphale’s cheeks burning. The band launched into the music, the song heavy on guitar and drums. 

The band was quite good at this type of music, Aziraphale thought, as Crowley launched into the lyrics. He wasn’t a fan of rock music, but seeing Crowley up there having fun was all he needed. It was high-energy, loud, and rambunctious. 

_”Come on, baby_  
Gotta play with me  
Well I’m your live wire  
You better lock your doors  
I’m on the prowl tonight” 

The lyrics, Aziraphale supposed, were fitting. Crowley’s eyes found Aziraphale’s, and his eyes burned gold in the bar lighting. He was drawn in, a moth to a flame, unable to look away from Crowley as his hips swung. Aziraphale noted the leather pants he was wearing (which he didn’t wear all too often), and before he knew it, he’d joined the crowd of people standing in front of the stage to get closer. 

The bar erupted into cheers as the song ended, and there was only a brief lull of silence between the cheers ending and the beginning of the next song. From this vantage point he could see Crowley’s chest moving with each breath, could see the way he moved when he took in a breath for the next verse. Some people sang along with this one, some people cheered, but Aziraphale just watched. 

Their eyes met again, briefly, as Crowley caught his breath before the second verse. The gold eyes held mischief, curiosity, and adrenaline. As Crowley sang he sank down onto one knee, reaching out with one hand, the other holding the microphone. Crowley gripped Aziraphale by the collar of his sweater, yanked him forward, and cupped his cheek. Aziraphale took Crowley’s wrist as their eyes locked, leaning forward, standing on his toes to get close. 

He was close enough to see the sweat on Crowley’s face from the heat of the bar and the physical exertion, close enough to feel his breath. He pushed closer still, enough that their lips almost brushed with every word Crowley spoke. After the verse, Crowley took in a breath and finally pressed their lips together in a kiss that was more heated than the air in the bar, more passionate than his performance. 

It was brief, and Crowley pulled away at the last second., making sure to mess Aziraphale’s hair on his way back. Aziraphale could hardly notice it, and by now he could only concentrate on Crowley - his eyes, his lips, the way his hips rocked when he shifted. His entire body was on fire and tingling at the same time, absolutely mesmerised by the ginger.

The sexual tension was only increased with the next two songs. Crowley reached to grab his jaw, thumbed over his own lip while his eyes raked down Aziraphale’s form, throwing cheeky winks and throwing kisses that were nothing short of sultry. 

The set was fairly short, to Aziraphale’s much needed favor. They left most of the equipment on the stage as they headed back (after a thank you, goodnight, buy lots of alcohol, et cetera). Aziraphale hardly had time to return to his seat with weak knees before he saw Crowley approaching, face flushed and glistening. Aziraphale swore his legs almost gave out when Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Enjoy the show, angel?” He teased. Aziraphale huffed.

“_Lord,_ Crowley, must you be so…” 

“What, sexy?” 

“Y- Perhaps, yes.” Crowley smirked at the response, studying Aziraphale’s face for a moment before leaning in for another kiss, this time a bit more subdued, but heated nonetheless. 

They could both feel the adrenaline in their systems, which was perhaps part of their motivation for such a display. Aziraphale pulled back after a moment, hesitating a second to catch his breath.

“Maybe we should- take this home, if you have no more obligations here.” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes, drawing the facial expression he usually did when he wanted something. Crowley didn’t need any convincing, running a hand over Aziraphale’s waist as he nodded.

“Of course, angel. Let’s see how far we can get after we get inside.” Aziraphale’s face flushed again, and he could feel a spark of heat deep in his abdomen as he gripped at Crowley’s hand to lead him out of the bar.

Crowley had gotten a ride to the gig from one of his buddies, so Aziraphale drove them home. Aziraphale hadn’t yet experienced the difficulties of driving while distracted, but something about the hand on his thigh made it hard to concentrate on the road. They made it home after almost getting rear-ended twice, luckily without any damage to the vehicle. 

Crowley yanked Aziraphale close when the elevator doors closed, nipping his bottom lip before kissing him deeply. Aziraphale couldn’t help but melt into it with a whine in the back of his throat, hands finally finding Crowley’s hips before digging his fingers into the leather. 

It was passionate, spur of the moment, and they reluctantly pried themselves apart just seconds later when the doors opened again and Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s sleeve to drag him along. Aziraphale stumbled and caught up with the other, cursing his short legs for a brief moment. The thought was quickly nipped off when Crowley dug a hand into Aziraphale’s pocket to grab his keys, fumbling with the lock. The moment was getting Aziraphale far too worked up, but judging by Crowley’s panting, he wasn’t the only one.

It felt like an eternity before Crowley got the door open and tossed the keys inside, roughly pulling Aziraphale inside. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s shoulders and shoved him up against the door (once it was shut), pressing their bodies together as he continued the kiss. Crowley rocked his hips forward, and Aziraphale felt a shock shooting up his spine at the sudden friction, letting out a breathy moan into the other’s mouth. 

Crowley occupied himself by shoving his hands up under Aziraphale’s sweater, feeling over his chest and stomach. Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss to yank it over his head, letting it fall to the floor without a care. Crowley struggled out of his jacket and started to unbutton his vest, getting distracted when Aziraphale pinned him to the door once again, hands running down to help him out a bit. 

It was a bit of a process before Crowley threw his vest and shirt onto the floor, hooking his fingers into Aziraphale’s belt loops to pull him over to the sofa. Crowley was back in control once again as he pushed Aziraphale onto his back, and he moved to straddle his hips with a dirty smirk. 

“Wait,” Aziraphale breathed out, hands moving to take Crowley’s hips again. Crowley stroked a hand over his face, tilting his head, pausing for the moment. 

“What’s wrong, Angel?” Aziraphale looked Crowley up and down, swallowing. 

“Are- we should probably, move to bed. Quite uncomfortable to shag on the sofa, I’d think.” Crowley just chuckled and got off his lap, giving a hand to Aziraphale to pull him up. The walk to the nearest bedroom (Crowley’s) was quite short, but not as desperate as it was before. 

Crowley was a tad surprised when he was shoved back onto the mattress, Aziraphale soon following to kneel over Crowley and start kissing down his neck, tongue pressing and teasing down the side of his throat to draw noises from him. Crowley just let his head fall back, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s bare shoulders. 

He could feel Aziraphale’s fingertips teasing over his chest, down his stomach, pressing into the fly of his pants. Crowley rocked his hips forward, which seemed to be enough encouragement to him to undo the button and push the zipper down. To Crowley’s dismay, he didn’t go any further, instead skating his fingers over his thighs, dipping in between his legs a few times to give the illusion of friction, never actually paying off.

“Fuck, Aziraphale- you’ve got to stop teasing, you’re going to drive me cra-_aah!”_ Crowley was cut off as Aziraphale pressed his hand up into him in a rough movement, looking quite smug.

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale purred. Crowley scoffed and shoved Aziraphale off and to the side, wrestling his way back on top to grind down onto Aziraphale’s erection. It drew a delicious moan, and Crowley grinned, starting to get himself out of his pants.

Leather pants, Crowley discovered, were a real pain in the ass when you were trying to get them off quickly. It was almost enough of a pause to interfere with the mood, but he eventually reigned victorious, kicking them off the bed with a huff. The boxers came off next and he then resumed his place in kneeling over Aziraphale, who was not-so-subtly staring. 

“What’re you staring for?” Crowley asked with all the confidence and presence he usually had. Aziraphale blushed pink, averting his eyes.

“I’m just- you- you’re- _God,_ Crowley, you’re so much sexier than I could have even imagined.” His voice was breathy, but he spoke with conviction, running his hands from Crowley’s hips to his knees. Crowley was ready to be offended at the possible implications of his stuttering, but softened, laying his hands on Aziraphale’s chest. 

“You’re sweet,” Crowley responded, sliding his hands to undo Aziraphale’s pants. It didn’t take long, and Crowley moved out of his lap. “Take ‘em off.” Aziraphale obeyed, sitting up to strip himself first of his khakis, and then his briefs. 

Crowley’s eyes raked down Aziraphale’s body once again, prowling in to give him a deep kiss, hand gliding over his thigh. Crowley hesitated before he wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s erect cock, giving it a few pumps to hear Aziraphale moan into the kiss. He pulled away so the other could breathe, thumbling over the slit at the tip. 

“How needy you sound, angel.” He pressed a wet kiss to Aziraphale’s jaw as he pulled his hand away. It proved to be his downfall. 

Aziraphale pinned Crowley to the bed again, capturing one of his gangly legs to hike up over his hip. Once past the initial surprise Crowley smirked up at the angel, biting his lip suggestively. 

Aziraphale, running entirely on impulse and the leftover buzz of one drink, made to pinch the soft flesh of Crowley’s inner thigh, then brushing his fingers up his lips, massaging his fingers into the other’s clit when he found it. It drew a sharp moan out, Crowley trying to grind his fingers up into the feeling. Aziraphale had already pulled his hand away, to Crowley’s disappointment.

“Do you have any condoms?” Aziraphale asked quietly, as if talking too loud would shatter whatever scene they’d been playing out. Crowley nodded happily, jerking a thumb to the nightstand.

“Back of the drawer,” Aziraphale nodded at the instruction. He didn’t have to move too much to reach over and open it up, and he didn’t have to spend too much time working on it. Before Crowley knew it he could feel a couple fingers gently pressing into his entrance, opening him up. He spread his legs a bit further to allow for it, letting Aziraphale slot himself up in the space he’d created. 

“Crowley,” he breathed out, just after he’d pulled his fingers out. Crowley looked up to meet his blue eyes, curious, a bit hazed with lust.

“Angel?” The moment felt more fragile than it ever had. The tension between the two had come to a head, making both their nerves spark.

“Crowley, tell me what you want.” It registered that this was Aziraphale’s way of double-checking, asking for permission and consent rather than out of any need for direction. Crowley put one finger underneath Aziraphale’s jaw to coax him near, near enough to whisper in his ear.

“I want you to have your way with me, angel. Anything you’ve ever wanted to do to me, _do it._ I’m more than enthusiastic.” Crowley grinned, nipping gently at Aziraphale’s earlobe. “Just remember that next time, it’s my turn.” 

Aziraphale had to bite back a sharp breath at the last line, taking that as a _please continue_. He only had to glance down briefly to line himself up and push in, both of them sharing a mutual feeling of silent awe. Crowley’s back arched up as Aziraphale bottomed out, hand reaching up to ball a fist into his hair. 

Aziraphale was the first to make any sound, a deep groan building in the back of his throat as he started to move his hips. He found that once he started to move, he couldn’t possibly imagine more than a few reasons he’d ever want to stop. Crowley wasn’t joking about being enthusiastic - certainly enjoying himself as he rolled his hips into Aziraphale’s movements and raked his nails down his back. 

They were both moaning, calling out for each other as they got closer. It was fast, and hot, and loud. Neither one of them wanted it to end - and if it did, they certainly would wish it to happen again. 

It was easy to lose track of time and reality as they both concentrated on each other. Crowley was the first to orgasm, crying out and chanting the other’s name as his walls tightened and spasmed. It was enough to push Aziraphale over the edge, drawing Crowley’s orgasm out as he thrusted a few more times and then climaxed with a shout. 

Aziraphale collapsed onto Crowley’s chest once they were both spent, eyes shut as they embraced each other. Neither one knew how long they lay like that, but Crowley spoke up some amount of time later. 

“There’s no way we’re not doing that again, right?” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Not with you up on the stage acting like that.” Crowley smiled, petting Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Can’t help myself. Teasing you is so fun.”


End file.
